36 Lines About 18 Lives

I don’t really have 36 lines here, but you know how I like to get all clever and stuff. What I do have is two posts that are about cats. Kind of.

There is the first one, which was the original post, and then the second one, which happened while I was writing the former.

Life is material.


The dog barked all night last night. Seriously, all freaking night. Hours.

I kept going outside to see what was happening. I even had my weapon of choice at my side. All I saw was a barking dog, which I told to shut the hell up. Again.

When I got up this morning I went outside to see if I had been robbed or egged or whatever it is that kids are doing at 3 in the morning nowadays.

Turns out there was a cat in a tree. I looked at the dog, you kept the whole neighborhood up all night for this?

We have cats. Three of them. The dog barks at them too, but they just ignore her. This cat didn’t know better and therefore sat in a tree all night. Stupid freaking cat.

My wife, being the animal-loving crusader that she is, climbed the tree and fetched the cat. This is after my attempt at rescue, which was to turn on the sprinkler, failed.

The cat then jumped up on the fence between us and the neighbor where 3 very large dogs were barking and drooling over the chance that the cat was stupid enough to jump in their yard. Stupid freaking cat.

It must have been frustrated and pissed after a night in the tree. It probably just wanted to get the hell out of here. Instead it got mauled by the neighbor’s dogs.

My wife screamed from the tree. I started climbing the fence. The dogs danced a dance of delight and death. The cat did not care to tango. It flipped and jumped and ran across the snouts of snapping and snarling jaws, wanting nothing more than to reach the other side. Somewhere the soundtrack to Russ Meyer’s Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! played on a loop of sweat and fear.

The cat made it. The dogs went silent. The dance was over. Their date was gone. They watched the wall for a moment, in hopes of more stupidity, but the cat left them disappointed.

I have no idea how hurt the cat may have been, or how many lives it left behind on the dance floor. I only know that I was happy to see it survive.

I looked at my dog, tail wagging and tongue out. She was oblivious. This is your fault I thought. Barking all damn night. I couldn’t bring myself to be mad at the cat. Stupid as it was.


We were sitting outside. The boys were playing in the sandbox and I was typing my morning post. I had to do it, I had already missed one day of blogging and I didn’t want to let my mom down two days in a row.

It was sunny. I was barefoot, drinking Arizona Blueberry Green Tea (Diet), and listening to Belle & Sebastion. All was well.

“Daddy, I found a sand peanut.” said Atticus. I thought for a moment. The kid has a great imagination and is always saying funny stuff, so he could have anything in his hand, from nothing to an actual peanut.

Then I thought of cat shit. And I was right.

There in his little hand was a sand peanut in all of it’s encrusted glory. We made a dash to the trash and washed our hands (yes, he put it in my hand) with all the soap and hot water we could stand.

Then he returned to the sandbox, and I returned to writing the story you read above, secretly hating the cat even though I told you I didn’t, and wishing the dance had lasted a little longer. Maybe even a slow dance or two.

I’m just glad I didn’t ask Atticus how the peanut tasted. That would have left a bad taste in my mouth too.

Cats do that.

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